


Petunia

by cosmictrap



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Petunia Through the Series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-16
Packaged: 2019-03-03 02:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13331997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmictrap/pseuds/cosmictrap
Summary: POTTERHEADS, PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. IT WOULD MEAN A LOT.First fic in this fandom, so please don't judge, ha ha.





	1. Finding Harry

**Author's Note:**

> POTTERHEADS, PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK. IT WOULD MEAN A LOT.
> 
> First fic in this fandom, so please don't judge, ha ha.

 

When Petunia opened the door to her home to place the milk bottles outside, nothing had prepared her for what she saw; a baby boy, asleep in the basket, wrapped in a blanket that rang bells of recognition in the back of her mind. But before she could react or process any of it, she let out a scream of surprise. The scream woke the baby, and Petunia recoiled at the sight of the baby's eyes; she had grown up looking into those eyes.

But it couldn't possibly be. Why was there a baby on her doorstep? She could see a letter tucked into the basket, and she was filled with a sense of foreboding.

She looked back inside her house, hoping she hadn't woken her son and husband; she heard no movement, and briefly, was amused at how they were both heavy sleepers.

She knelt next to the basket, staring into the eyes of the little boy, her own eyes moistening. Her eyes went to the curious lightning scar on his forehead. The boy blinked at her, hand in his mouth. Her eyes went to the letter that dropped out of the boy's hand; it was addressed to her. She reached for the letter, starting to feel her palms sweat.

She opened the letter carefully, and the handwriting was also familiar, reminiscent of a rejection she had never been able to get over.

_Dear Petunia,_

_The little boy, as you might have already guessed, is Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter._

_I bring the very unfortunate news of your sister's untimely demise. James and herself were killed by a dark wizard, Voldemort, who you may or may not have heard of while trying to defend their little son. The aforementioned wizard has now disappeared but I suspect his return._

_I am aware of your falling out with your sister, but the boy's grandparents are dead and James was an only son; you're his only living relative. I implore you to take him in._

_I will admit that taking the boy in might leave your family in certain peril, but if you do take the boy in, I will ensure that your home is protected with enchantments and ward your house against every danger that you could possibly be in._

_Leave your answer in your mailbox, and I shall proceed accordingly._

_Regards,_

_Albus Dumbledore._

Petunia read the letter several times to make sure she wasn't dreaming. She put the letter away and stared at Harry, who stared back at her unblinkingly.

Her eyes filled with tears.

_Lily was gone._

Yes, they had not been on talking terms and she had shunned every attempt of Lily's at contacting her. But she had always thought that there would come a day when everything would be alright; that they would all dine at the same table, someday.

She gingerly picked Harry in her arms. The blanket evoked a sense of nostalgia, reminiscent of the first time her mother had let her hold baby Lily in that very blanket.

After much resistance, Petunia started to cry softly, mourning the loss of a sister she hadn't spoken to or seen in years, a sister who had tried to reach out but had been consistently snubbed; a sister with whom there was no more any scope of repairing a broken relationship with.


	2. Mr. Dumbledore

Petunia stared at the little boy sleeping next to her sleeping son in the crib. Harry stared back at his aunt, giggling occasionally. She rested her chin on the edge of the crib and reached out to brush away the mop of black hair off his face. As she started drawing back her hand, the little boy caught her finger and cooed at her., making her smile at him. 

It’d been a couple of days since she’d found him in the basket. Often, she found herself staring at the baby, more often than at her own son. He looked like Lily, except for the black hair. She supposed it was probably because she’d seen James only once, and couldn’t quite recall what he looked like. Maybe because she was desperately searching the little boy's face for her sister.

She knew Vernon wasn’t too happy about keeping Harry, but had admitted that if they were his only relatives, it’d only be human to take him in. She wouldn’t tell Vernon this, but she  _ had  _ to keep Harry because she felt that that was the only to make up to Lily for the terrible sister she’d been. She hadn’t told Vernon about Lily’s “heritage” of course. She wasn’t sure how her husband would handle it. Besides, if she could get away with not telling him, she’d rather keep that a secret. She wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed by Lily having magic in her blood or more so that she herself did not.

The clock on the nursery wall announced that it was time. She stood up silently, and giving the boys a last look over her shoulder, trudged down stairs. Vernon was sound asleep in the bedroom across the nursery, unperturbed by her restlessness. She hoped that whatever Mr. Dumbledore had in mind would be over by dawn Just as she opened the front door, she saw the last of the streetlights go out, and could make out the silhouette of a man in her driveway.

She took his look in with curiosity. She’d communicated with him once, long ago. She didn’t like to think about that anymore, but she wasn’t prepared for the sight in front of her. Clad in dark blue robes with silver stars on it, Mr. Dumbledore’s wispy silver hair reached his waist, and his long beard seemed to trail almost endlessly. HIs eyes looked kind, but something told her that this man was not to be messed with.

Closing the door softly behind her, she walked over to him. He merely nodded in greeting, face extremely sombre. For that, she was grateful. She wasn’t sure she could talk yet, and would have resorted to nodding mutely if he had offered her condolences. She watched quietly as the man raised his hands, and murmured something softly. She watched with unconcealed awe as the smallest of golden sparks left his hand, and seemed to disappear into various corners of her house. 

As she wondered how those little sparks were to protect her family, he turned to her, looking at her kindly from under his half-moon spectacles. Almost as if reading his mind, he spoke softly. “These are just precautions. The very fact that he’s with you will keep him safe.”

She turned to look at him quizzically. “How am i supposed to protect him? Who does he even need protection from? And-”

“I understand you have many questions, Petunia, but for tonight, I can only answer your first. Your presence protects him simply because your Lily’s blood.”

She simply stared at him, still unable to understand, but shook her head. Frankly, she didn’t care about how and why he was safe with her as long as he was. She was still not ready to pretend like “magic” was as mundane and normal as these people made it out to be. 

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore spoke again. “Alright then, Petunia. Farewell.”

Petunia watched him turn away, and hesitated for a second before calling out. “Excuse me, sir?”

Dumbledore turned around questioningly, waiting for her to continue.

“I just… I wanted to…” she started, fumbling slightly. “Where is she buried?” she finished in a whisper.

“The same village she chose to raise a family in,” said Dumbledore, looking at her knowingly. “Godric’s Hollow.”

“Godric’s Hollow,” Petunia murmured. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Understandably, so,” agreed Dumbledore. “Since you-”

“I want to see her,” said Petunia suddenly.

Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid that would be too-”

“I don’t care,” Petunia snapped, starting to feel tears welling up in her eyes. “I want to see her.”

“Very well,” he said, extending his arm towards her, which she took reluctantly. “Hold on tight, my dear,” he said.

And a second later, Petunia Dursley and Albus Dumbledore disapparated from Privet Drive.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it always bothered me that the characters of Petunia Dursley absolutely showed very little affection towards her dead sister or her son. I liked to think that despite her hate on the outside, she had a soft corner, somewhere. I know it is unlikely, out of character, whatever, but I had to do this for myself.


End file.
